"You stinking lizard, looks like you're about to die!"
Banks spoke, looking at Hamof slumped against the wall across the passage.
"Pah! I told you, I'm a dragonman!"
Hamof spat, but he was visibly in bad shape.
Something seemed to have bitten a chunk out of his left cheek, splitting even his left eye socket open. Although the bleeding had stopped, he looked utterly wretched.
Only fragments remained of his fiery red armor, and an open, bloody hole in his lower right abdomen offered a direct view of his internal organs.
If he had not chosen to shed his tail in time to save his life in the earlier fighting, he would probably have been reduced to pulp in some Tooth Beast's mouth by now.
"You swindling bitch, scamming people with shoddy goods. If you're about to die, give me a shout first and let out some more fire. I promise I'll stay far away so you don't catch me in it."
Hamof shot back.
Because Banks really was half-dead himself.
His right arm and shoulder looked as though something had torn them off, and flames puffed from the wound. He was injured in several other places too, barely managing to stand by propping himself up on the enormous "10-ton" hammer in his left hand.
As competitors in the same trade, the two not only knew each other, but could even be called "old friends"-the kind who traded barbs whenever they met.
Hamof's skills were limited, but the equipment he made was all genuine, just not particularly high-quality.
Banks, meanwhile, relied on his reputation and outstanding skills as a Grand Craftsman. While selling high-quality equipment at high prices, he also used blind boxes to fleece players with a gambling streak, since getting the right item meant a massive windfall, although